I have visited many countries and many cities, but Kolkata holds a special place in my memory and in my soul. Some places you pass through. Some places wait for you. Kolkata is one of them.
I miss Kolkata —
not as a destination, but as a place that stayed with me.
I wait for the day I will return: to sit at a roadside tea stall, doing nothing but watching people pass; to visit the flower market before sunrise, when the city is still quiet, sharing a smile with vendors whose hands carry both labor and beauty; to walk along the Ganga, letting its slow movement reveal untold stories, waiting to be noticed.
I remember the old streets — walls worn by weather and time, doors opening to another ordinary day. Hand-pulled rickshaws move at a human pace, guided by people who know there is no need to rush. Tea stalls where conversations linger longer than the tea itself. A stranger’s quiet smile. Old buses passing by, full of lives, fatigue, and hope.
I stood on Howrah Bridge and watched the city cross itself — workers, prayers, small dreams, carried on tired feet. In Kolkata, you are never alone. The city is always alive, always graceful, always present.
Kolkata belongs to its people — unguarded, unpolished, real. They do not seek attention or applause. They carry their lives with dignity, and in doing so, they give the city its soul. That honesty is impossible to forget.
Some cities you photograph.
Some cities become part of you.
— GMB Akash
GMB AKASH 